


persimmons hung to dry

by qelos (midheaven)



Series: a song is fireworks [1]
Category: Nogizaka46 (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-01
Updated: 2020-09-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:54:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26230717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/midheaven/pseuds/qelos
Summary: you tap your fingers against your thigh, let out a breath. then—“haruka!” a voice calls.haruka and seira have called each other a number of names.
Relationships: Hayakawa Seira/Kaki Haruka
Series: a song is fireworks [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1912633
Kudos: 13





	persimmons hung to dry

**Author's Note:**

> this is written in second pov, and in lapslock.
> 
> this is a work that i took a different approach with, so if any of you have read any of my stuff prior to this, this one should be wildly different. 
> 
> i'm glad i've finally written something for nogi, honestly, seeing as they're probably the group i've been following the closest for over two years now. 
> 
> title from kubota fujiko.

家毎に  
柿吊るし干す  
高木村  
住み古りにけり  
夢のごとくに  
  
久保田不二子 

  
  
  


she’s late. 

you check your watch. the hands are slow. like the setting of the sun. it’s been thirty minutes. 

you tap your fingers against your thigh, let out a breath. then—

“haruka!” a voice calls. “sorry, i’m sorry.”

you turn, and there’s seira, who just—

“did you …?” you trail off, because even asking her is nerve-wracking. you remember it, play it in your head again, and you have to swallow the lump in your throat. you feel the heat in your cheeks and pray it doesn’t show; maybe the dimming light will drown it out. but you see the same dusting on seira’s cheeks, too, so you know it’s for naught. 

“it’s embarrassing for me, too,” seira admits, quietly. “but if you want me to stick with kakki-chan—”

“no, no, that’s not what i meant.” you shake your head. “it’s okay. i like it.”

“okay.” seira tilts her head and smiles. “haruka.”

  
  
  


it was the school’s production of romeo and juliet. 

you’re busy painting the leaves on the trees. you’ve always liked it, the smell of newspaper, stains on your fingers. 

the actors are rehearsing nearby. you hear, “okay, take five!” and sighs of relief—or maybe exhaustion. 

a shadow casts over the green you were painting. you look up. 

“could you hand me my water?” a girl asks. juliet. “it’s the red bottle.”

you turn and spot it. you’re careful not to touch the wet paint on the other stage props as you reach for it. you’re even more careful not to stain it when you get hold of it and hand it over.

“thank you,” juliet mumbles, and indulges herself. you return to detailing the leaves, and you almost forget she’s there, until she says—

“incredible.” 

you look up again. she’s a lot closer now. 

_has she always been this pretty?_

“that much detail?” she asks, eyes scanning your work. her scrutiny prickled at the back of your neck. you feel too seen. “will it even make a difference?”

“not really,” you shrug. “i just don’t want to do something halfway.”

she turns and there’s a wide smile on her face. her eyes are crescents. “that’s inspiring of you.”

and you don’t really know what to say, because thanking her would mean you agree, but rejecting her would be rude—she’s your senior, if your memory serves you right, by a year. so you just stare blankly, at a loss. 

she breaks it. “hayakawa seira, by the way.”

_seira._ you would have never figured. hers and romeo’s—itō junna’s—name had been plastered on all the flyers, but you’d always thought it was read _seiko._

“kaki haruka,” is your response. 

and there’s another stifling silence, but you feel responsible for it, somehow—she’d broken it just now, so it must be your turn this time—she’d complimented you, right, so you should repay it—

“you’re doing really well,” you manage. 

and she startles at that, her mouth tightening, her eyes widening. “thank you,” she exhales, hand on her chest. “really, thank you, kaki-san.”

“i’m called kakki,” you reply before you could stop yourself. “my friends call me kakki.”

seira tilts her head, confused. 

“ _kakki_ ,” you repeat, making sure your throat catches so she hears that it’s written with the small _tsu._

“oh.” seira grins. “kakki, then.”

the two of you share a smile—quickly interrupted by your director calling “places!”

“that’s my cue.” seira bows and says, “ _yoroshiku_.”

and when she straightens back up, her hair sways. her eyes set, ready, and you see the slope of her nose and the curl of her lashes before she turns and walks away. 

your throat catches for an entirely different reason, now.

  
  
  
  


the next rehearsal you’re part of is two weeks later. you spend nearly its entirety stealing glances at hayakawa seira. 

she’s pretty in a way that doesn’t strike you at first glance. that takes time. then it would dawn on you, slowly, the corner of her lips in a smile, the arch of her brow. it would catch you off-guard. 

seira catches you off-guard, today, too. 

“kakki.”

you jump from your work (parts of the capulet estate). there she is again. “senpai.”

“mind if i spend my break here?”

“not at all.”

the next few moments are quiet, save for the sounds of cardboard and styrofoam and the movement of your hands. seira runs through her lines in her head, determined, eyes closed.

then, of course, seira and her penchant of breaking silence. “are you free after this, kakki-chan?”

_chan?_

you nod. “yeah, i am.”

“wanna get tapioca?”

  
  
  


it goes on from then. 

rehearsals grow more frequent, dates squeezed together as performance night approaches. after each one, you and seira would get bubble tea then ride the train home. 

it hurt, almost. seira being that close to you. 

you’re just a hair taller than her, but she leans on your shoulder when you two are standing, you trying your best so the rattling of the train doesn’t topple both of you. she gets off three stations before you, so you see her wave goodbye before she turns and walks away. 

she catches you on a rehearsal-less day. 

“kakki-chan.” a tap on your shoulder. 

you turn, and seira has her hands behind her back. she’s swaying. biting her lip. sheepish. shy. 

“hayakawa-san.”

she waves a hand. “seira, please.”

“i’m your junior—”

“so you should do what i ask.” she tilts her head. (she does that a lot). “seira.”

“seira-san,” you repeat, and it feels like a betrayal of your tongue. 

a betrayal of how close you are. you want to be. she was _seira_ in your head but _hayakawa_ in your mouth, but now she’s not anymore. it sounds like you’ve reconciled the seira of your dreams and the seira in front of you. 

it hurts to be close to her. burns. icarus and the sun. 

“are you having lunch with anyone right now?” she asks. 

“no.” your fist clenches and unclenches. “i usually take it alone.”

“eat with me?” she asks, holding her bento up. 

you bite the inside of your cheek and nod. “sure.”

you walk with her, and with every step you hear the _drip drip drip_ of a trail of wax falling from your back. 

  
  
  


your crash into the sea happens sooner than you’d thought. 

gala night is a blur. there’s nothing for you to do, really, except touch up some worn off paint and repair some of the props that had been damaged in rehearsal. 

seira and junna do amazing. their hard work pays off, and there’s nothing but praises for either of them. 

after the show, their dressing rooms are cramped. swarms of people wanting to congratulate them on a job well done. you’re waiting by the corner for seira, to hand her the flowers you bought that afternoon. 

then a broad-shouldered man in a suit walks by everyone and hands a bouquet to her. 

“you did amazing!” he says, hugging her, the flowers getting crushed between them. “i’m so proud of you!’ 

“thank you!” you hear seira, muffled in his shoulder. “thank you for coming tonight, i love you so much!”

the water is so quiet, you think. so cold. so unforgiving. 

you rewrite the card attached to the flowers. _to hayakawa-senpai_ , you scribble, and leave it by the door. 

  
  
  


a month and a half passes. 

there’s no more rehearsals. you ride a bicycle to and from school. 

you find yourself haunted. scribbles of strands of hair in the margins of your notes. the school necktie. pearls sinking to the bottom of a glass. a small mouth. 

you spend your lunches in the classroom, head straight back home after class. take a different route, exit through the side gate. 

until you’re caught. 

there’s a harsh tug on the sleeve of your school blazer. it’s autumn; the chill that nips on your forearm is harsher. your back hits something rough, hard—the bark of a tree. some leaves fall to the ground, adding to the crimson-warmed foliage. 

it’s seira in front of you.

you haven’t been this close to her in a while. you take a sharp breath. the air stings your lungs. 

“i won’t take too much of your time,” she says. “just tell me who told you.”

you frown. “i’m sorry?”

“just tell me who told you, kakki-chan.”

“i—i don’t know what you’re talking about.”

seira half-laughs, half-scoffs. you flinch and put a hand to your chest. 

“it’s why you disappeared on me, right?” seira says, pointing a finger. “someone ratted me out to you.”

“hayakawa-senpai.”

seira winces, this time. takes a step back. you blink—that’s right, you think, the name you’ve called her inserting a thousand miles between you. there’s nothing farther from the sun than the bottom of the sea, after all. 

she rubs her hands on her face. “is it because i like girls?”

_girls?_

you blink. did you imagine the scene at the play? no, it was definitely a man. why would he be backstage—

and it dawns on you. the first people you’d think to invite to a play you’d star in—the people who would be most excited to see you backstage—

“senpai,” you exhale. “do you have a brother?”

seira frowns, considerably confused. “i do.”

“older?”

“yes.”

“was he at gala night?”

“ye—was it him? did _he_ tell you?” she spins on her heel. “oh, when i get home—”

a laugh bubbles up from your stomach. 

your chest is incredibly light—you laugh and you laugh, until your stomach is tired and tears sting your eyes. your cheeks ache. you sit down and lean on the tree. 

“what’s so funny?” seira asks. she steps closer again. “was it him?”

“oh—oh, i’m sorry.” you gather yourself. “i’ve never spoken to him,” you tell her, “and no one has told me anything about you.”

“then why—” she gives a sad smile, and she sits from where she was standing, all her strength seemingly leaving her body. 

it’s quiet again. like the first time. you rustle two leaves between your fingers. a gust blows. 

“i like you so much i almost can’t believe it, kaki haruka.”

your hand drops to the ground. the leaves are blown away. 

it’s the first time she’s said your name like that. the harsh click on the _ka_ , the slight hiss on the _ki._ the _ha_ coming as a soft exhale, the _ru_ rolling of her tongue, the final _ka_ breaking in her voice. 

“i like you a lot, and i thought you found out,” she admits. you don’t want to believe your ears. “i thought someone told you.”

you want to etch this in your memory. maybe you already have. seira in autumn. her resigned eyes shining the warm light. seira telling you something you’d thought you’d never hear. 

“if i knew that,” you say. you’re surprised your voice comes out. “the _last_ thing i would have done was disappear.”

she looks up, eyes wide. 

you take her hand. 

  
  


three days later, she invites you out after school. 

you wait for her outside. she’s late by half an hour. 

she calls you _haruka._

you’re embarrassed—she is, too, but you tell her it’s okay. tell her that you like it.

haruka and seira. seira and haruka. 

_haru_ , faraway; distant. _ka_ , incense. 

_sei_ , holy; sacred. _ra_ , to come. 

you could cry from how much of your heart is in this girl’s hands. at how she’s taken it and held it close. 

seira turns to you. “where do you want to go?”

being close to her doesn’t burn. doesn’t chill. it feels like you’ve finally settled. pieces fallen into place. 

you face her. “wherever.”

**Author's Note:**

> some things, which might be overexplaining, but i'd just like to cover my bases:  
> >from what i can gather, only mothers (or parents in general?) or significant others call a person by their full first name, with no suffix. hence why seira going from _kakki-chan_ to _haruka_ is kind of a big deal.  
> >re, the line about 'the small tsu': when the character for tsu つ is written small っ, it's an indicator that the proceeding consonant is doubled. so _kaki_ かき, vs. _kakki_ かっき.  
>   
> as always, my curiouscat is [here](http://curiouscat.me/pisceshorizon).


End file.
